


It's okay

by blue_inking



Series: Of Chocolate Hearts And Full Moon Nights [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_inking/pseuds/blue_inking
Summary: Remus is getting tired.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Of Chocolate Hearts And Full Moon Nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051895
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	It's okay

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at (albeit a little cringy) dramatic writing. I'm sorry? 
> 
> I don't know if I should say it, considering the warnings, but... have fun, I guess?

* * *

Dark particles of ash dust up in small circles directly over him. They fall very slowly and gently down on him. The air is thick with soot, and dust, and silence. But he doesn‘t mind. The silence helps him, helps him come to terms with the pain that seems to be chasing through his body. That overlaps all of his senses so he feels himself getting tired.

He shouldn‘t get tired.

In fact, he should scream, or shout, or do anything more than just lie here in silence, covered in the shattered debris of the fine funiture’s wood that had been tossed through the dry air just seconds before.

He should get up and move instead of staring at the black night sky with a blurry vision. It‘s a star-lit night. It‘s a cold night. It helps him endure the hissing, dark burning of his body. And it relieves the pain until he feels a pleasant, slight numbness setting in that makes him more sleepy, more tired, more calmer.

Maybe he shouldn‘t be tired.

No. He has to get up — _now_.

Well, he thinks then, that wouldn‘t actually do any good anyway, would it?

Even though he didn‘t think it would be possible, his heart pangs. It comes so suddenly and unexpectedly that he has to close his eyes to withstand the pressure behind his lids. The fire in the corner of his eye grows stronger and he feels the hot tingling on his dirty cheek as something wet runs down his skin.

Maybe, he thinks, he should have told him more often. Has he shown Sirius how fast his heart beats everytime when he touched him?

Has he?

Memories flicker through his mind, bloom like the faded images of days gone by, and he can feel his lips lift in the corner of his mouth. Looking back, yes — there were many happy moments that he wouldn‘t want to miss. All in all, it has been perfect, in its own way.

The background noise sloshes back to him, like water that gradually calms down, and he thinks he hears voices. He isn‘t the only one here. He isn‘t the only one of the people buried here. ›Buried‹, his mouth forms silently and he doesn‘t know why but he has to smile at the thought. Buried, indeed.

Suddenly he thinks he hears his name being called. The pitch echoes in his mind and he wonders why it sounds so panicked. But actually — actually he knows. He just doesn‘t want to fully admit it yet.

He wants to scream, or yell, just do something to make Sirius notice him. It’s the least he owes him, one last moment to give, Sirius deserves it —

But all that his throat can utter is a gurgling sound.

He knows that a small trickle of blood is running down his chin, and his lips are sprinkled with dark red liquid because he is trying, _really trying_ , to say something —

And yet, he fails miserably.

Maybe, he thinks, he should give it up. Maybe it‘s no use. Maybe his time is... and it would be better for Sirius.

Slowly but surely, the tiredness affects him, dips him into a tenacious bulk, and he wants to prevent it, or at least stop it, but he finds himself unable to. It‘s as if it‘s licking at his strength, tasting it, and completely sucking him up, his mind, his body, with carefull relentlessness. More and more often, he has to blink, until his vision darkens and his eyes flutter shut —

Then there‘s a hand on his cheek, rough, and big, and warm.

Then there‘s this voice, dark, melodic and so incredibly desperate as he has never seen it before.

Then there‘s this feeling in his cracked heart, making his chest swell, making the beast in him howl benevolently.

He wants to see it, one last time. He wants to see these gray eyes one last time, these eyes that shimmer, sparkle with emotions, that always had and always will capture his attention —

So he forces himself to climb out of the pleasant noise in his head, forces his body to urge itself to work, to escape the blackness of his mind —

And he does it. His vision is unclear and murky, but at least he can focus his gaze.

There is a figure bent over him, a hand that is constantly caressing his cheek, and eyes that tell of distress, soaked in panic.

Sirius mumbles futile words in a constant flow, the meaning of which he can no longer decipher. He sees Sirius‘ lips move, and for a moment the monotonous hum in his skull thins out. And because his gaze clears, he‘s all the more surprised when he discovers the wet, damp trail on Sirius‘ cheeks, like a token of his grief.

He wants to tell him that there is nothing to mourn, that he shouldn‘t worry, that he should look ahead and be happy —

But nothing is coming out of his throat. His vocal cords are numbed by a watery mass, thick as honey, and strong as iron.

So he does the only thing that he can think of.

He smiles.

He smiles at Sirius.

But for some reason Sirius‘ tears accreate, and his face contorts so badly that his shoulders begin to shake. Then, Sirius‘ head sags, and he thinks he doesn‘t want to see Sirius sobbing, he doesn't want Sirius to think it‘s his fault, to blame himself for going to this restaurant to celebrate their first wedding anniversary, or to feel responsible because it was Sirius who left him after he noticed this strange guy. How could Sirius have known that the man had planted a bomb?

Sirius shouldn‘t blame himself because he doesn‘t either. So he spurs himself on, withdraws even more from the numbness of his mind and realizes that Sirius is holding his hand. And he knows that this is the only way to get Sirius‘ attention.

He only exerted a little bit of pressure on his hand, only slightly returnes the affectionate gesture, but it‘s enough. Sirius‘ gaze slowly slides up to him, black fringe mingling with tears on his face.

Simultaneously, he feels that this is the moment. This is the crucial moment. This is the end.

„It‘s okay,“ he breathes, softly, but firmly — then, he closes his eyes.

He no longer sees Sirius‘ body being shaken by sobs, no longer sees how someone tries to pull Sirius away from him, no longer sees Sirius fighting back before James finally comes, taking Sirius by the shoulders, tears in his eyes, whispering, „Let‘s go“ because the sight is so horrible.

He doesn‘t see any of it.

Because Remus Lupin is dead.

* * *


End file.
